reconcile
by songs
Summary: five quiet moments. pre-sozin's comet; — ო zutara.


**title: **reconcile

**pairing: **zuko ო katara.

**disclaimer: **i own nothing.

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I.

Katara keeps her distance, shying away from the glimmer of the moonlight. Her clothes are loosely wrapped around her; she hadn't expected anyone to be using the bath at this time of night. She squints at the form on its knees, bent over the fountain; the face turns, directly into the sheen of the stars, and Katara feels anger boiling in her bones.

_Zuko._

He does not see her. Instead, his neck cranes back, so that his gaze lingers on the water sputtering out of the fountain-mouth. From the angle she is at, all she can see is the scar streaking his face, the scarlet dulled into a plume of purple in the night.

He cups the water in his palms like it is something precious, staring at it as if he sees something else, before he splashes it over his face. The water cradles the crevices of his eyes and lips and cheeks, and Katara cannot help but feel like she is intruding as he drowns his skin again and again, scrawling over his scar like it is something that temple-water can wash away.

II.

"I hate you."

It is only the two of them, cleaning rice off of breakfast-plates. The words, though, are empty of their usual cruelty and desperation. They sound almost hollow, bones without blood, skin without water; they sound like she is trying to remind herself of something, remind herself that the sky is blue and that she bends water with her hands and heart, and that she hates Zuko.

She expects him to take it. To let it roll of his back like rain, or to let it seep inside of him and leave scars. Take it like he takes everything she throws at him, words and water and all.

He sighs. It is raspy and fragile, and Katara almost drops the dish she is rinsing.

Zuko is silent for a moment, before he finally says, "I wish you didn't. Because I don't hate you, Katara."

Red rises in her cheeks and she feels like a child scolded. She remains quiet, though, ignoring the plea in his eyes, and ignoring the fact that he used her name.

III.

Katara does not know why she paces down the halls of the Air Temple that night, or why she lingers outside of his room. She would like to say that she is only checking so she knows he isn't up to something, to make sure he is not about to betray them. But she knows he is up to nothing and knows he is not going to betray them and it makes her want to scream because the part of her that she thought would always hate him really does not want to anymore.

She feels foolish. She is about to turn back and leave, though, when she hears his voice, thick with sleep:

"No...no, please..."

Katara is back at the barely-open door in an instant, and peers through the sliver of an opening. He is sprawled across the mat of his bed and she realizes that he is still asleep.

His voice comes again, sounding young and broken: "Father...no, I will not fight you. Please, don't- don't!"

_He's having a nightmare. _And Katara doesn't take a moment to think. She slips through the door, paying no mind to the creak in its wooden bones, and pads towards the Fire Prince's jerking body. She places a hand on his warm shoulder.

"Zuko, wake up," she whispers. He quivers beneath her, and she rattles him again. "Zuko!"

His eyes snap open, and the gold in them seems to glow in the darkness. He looks stricken and panicked and completely unlike the Zuko she thought she knew, and she feels something inside of her break at the sight.

"W...What? Katara?" he asks, sitting up. "What are you..."

He looks afraid and relieved at the same time and Katara doesn't have the heart to be cruel. "You were screaming. I think it was a nightmare...I heard you from my room," she half-lies.

"Oh," is all he says, and her hands run down the length of his arm subconsciously. He won't remember, she decides, and everything will be normal tomorrow. "Thank you...uh, for...um. Thank you, Katara."

The way his voice touches upon the shape of her name makes her feel something that she cannot quite define.

IV.

"Things would have been so different," she muses. It has been two weeks since she had been in his room, and in that time so much has changed.

"I know," he says, and she could hear the wistfulness laced into the words. They are alone at the campfire; Aang and Toph and Sokka are all asleep.

"I really would have healed you, you know." Her voice is a murmur. A winter-whisper. "I really, really wanted to befriend you."

His tone lowers, "Katara, I'm so sorry."

"...I know."

V.

They have returned from finding her mother's killer; she has held him and forgiven him and it feels like something out of a dream, only, it is not.

She looks for him after dinner, and finds him at the dock, his form outlines by the twilight's gloaming. He is staring at something in his hands.

It is water.

He senses her, and turns, looking at her sadly. "Everyone used to tell me that I looked just like her." He gives a bitter laugh. "I guess it isn't true anymore." The water slips through his fingers, straight into the glassy skin of the mirror-waters. His gaze follows the droplets.

Katara bends down onto her knees, turning his head so that he faces her. Her fingers trace over his scar, tenderly. "I'm sure she was beautiful. Inside and out." _Like you._

He leans into her touch, and Katara does not pull away for a long, long time.


End file.
